Seasons
by Smart-chan
Summary: Some thoughts left unsaid and moments which burn in the memory. Joker, my one and true pairing. Please enjoy and comment :D
1. Autumn

AUTUMN

It is autumn and we are trapped. Entrapped in the most cliché of its scenarios. You call it fall, and I refuse to agree that it is a much more poetical and fitting name for this season. You don't need to hold onto my hand so tightly –it's not like I'll fly away, even if I could. I'm not going to slip up either. I did it enough times in the past, and while I was unable to admit to all these faults for years, centuries!, I finally have the courage to say that my mistakes are a part of me and they make up the country of England. I think the reason why I'm able to do it, is you. Yes git, I mean you. For the simple reason that you just accept it all and the way in which you say you wouldn't change anything in me. The things you say are always so blunt, thoughtless, and thus painfully sincere so that often I want to punch this grinning face of yours and hope it will stop you from saying these things. Well, this method fails and yet I continue to do it in the more desperate of moments, forgetting it to be futile.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Autumn. The red and golden leaves are piled up in the colourful stacks as they reflect the last sunshine of the day- you did it on purpose, didn't you? You knew that the magnificent colours and light will be this enchanting to me, who is used to simple greenery all year round. As if it weren't enough, your smile seems to warm up this freezing air. How absolutely pitiful I must sound describing this to you, especially since I highly doubt you are going to appreciate what I'm trying to say here. It is thanks to our warm gestures, gentle words and this deep sound of your voice as you speak that... even I tend to forget all that happened that made us lose our way and create this mirrored wall in between us, deaf to the urges and shouts of our hearts. Oh, what a poetic way to speak of all the shit that we did to each other.

Alfred, you tore my heart out and, clutching it with your gloved, detached hand, you shoved it in my face. Did you spit on it? I don't know anymore, all I can remember is the bleeding, which I felt would never stop, but eventually... my wounds healed into scars which I love to scratch open again. However, when I do, you are here with your bandage of husky tone and antiseptic of kisses which immediately make the scars hardly visible.

Yes git, I can still see you despite your efforts to cover up with the dry leaves.

No, don't be ridiculous. Do you REALLY expect me to roll around in the leaves with you like some teenager?

And yet, your hot hand is like a handcuff around my wrist when you pull me down, so that I can collapse on top of you and wear, and shout, and throw the leaves right into your laughing face.

Please, always laugh when you're with me.

***

Yet, I still remember the days when you did cry. These were only the little things mind you. You cried when you had nightmares, you cried when I forced you to eat and when there was a horror movie on; and every time you did I wrapped my arms around you, teased, and then promised I'll never let anyone or anything hurt you. What a scum of a man I am, to say such things and to then hurt you, my beloved, with ignorance and determination. This, I'll blame on you not crying when I did harm you. It's your fault for being so bloody complicated! Why do you cry at small things but make a tough face when everything is falling apart?! No, I'm not taking the bullshit that I was the one who taught you it. Okay, maybe I get upset when you say my food is disgusting. Old costume movies make me cry too. But... that day, that day when you left me, I cried because I couldn't understand why it was happening. The tears rolled down my face and I couldn't help it because I would have given anything just to have you back. But most of all... I couldn't imagine waking up the next day in an empty bed, waking up without your smile, your hands and your lips. Without everything that gave me comfort and love. But I did. I slept and woke up and carried on living like that, alone, for years to come as you grew and made me small and insignificant in the shadow of my former colony.

***

For so many years there was nothing as real to me as pain. Do you want to know who stopped it? You did. Just as you began that wretched state. You came to me, this time your body bore scars and your strong shoulders were trembling. You never seemed so weak and as small as when your arms wrapped around my waist in a desperate embrace, and as the dry lips looked for kisses which missed my mouth and hit my nose, chin and cheeks, instead you never answered my questions and simply continued to touch and look for this sorry version of comfort. It wasn't until I woke up in the steamy room, with darkness still suspended around me that I have learnt about our antebellum. You said that you needed me more than anything and for this reason I gave myself to you, a gift I knew was out of my selfish needs and wishes and yet you accepted it without a complaint.

***

Our hands are burnt with the faked innocence. The smallest leaves are still stuck in your golden hair so I call you a brat and take them out, one by one. Your lips are pouty but then you place a sweet kiss on my nose and it doesn't matter anymore. I tell you off but you just laugh. It's dark already as we're walking back home. In the houses we pass the lights are on and people carry on having their lives unaware of this miracle I'm in. I don't think you realise it either Alfred. Or maybe, you do. Maybe, at these times when you think no one is watching and your handsome face remains still as if a face of a Greek deity sculpted in contemplation; maybe then you think about all that you want to say but never do.

Can I say something else? When I tell you to fuck off don't take me seriously. If I hurt you again Alfred, please don't leave me. Because... if you weren't here, who would complain about my food? Who would annoy me to the point of crying and, oh Alfred, who would love me during these long winter nights?

Our November day slowly comes to an end but as we walk together, your hand holding mine, I smile in my soul knowing that no matter what happened yesterday, or what will happen tomorrow, tonight you are with me and the whole world is just an outside to this fragile reality we've managed to build with bitter tears, protective lies and blissful hope.


	2. Winter Part 1

Winter

(Part 1)

No Alfred. The burning fire is most definitely not changing the fact you are an idiot. Alright, you're an acceptable git, I'll give you that. I can feel the tingling in my stomach as you put your arm around me and we watch some singing contest on TV. The blanket you have decided to use to wrap us in is almost as old as you. Whenever you fell asleep on the couch or decided to sit outside in the cold, this baby blue blanket served its purpose well. It's not fluffy anymore and the playful design on the fabric has faded considerably; still when I proposed to buy you a new one you pouted (just like you did as a child!) and said it wouldn't be the same. You love this blanket, don't you, Al?

W...what? Why should I be smiling to myself?! Pay attention to the TV, you git!

You don't understand the meaning of the word subtlety, do you? Well, you never did Alfred. Then again I can't expect someone like you to understand. And before you start to feel offended I'm not trying to insult you. I just... don't think someone with such strength can be subtle. Your shoulders are too steady and your hands are too big. Awkward almost. You smile when I take your hand into both of mine and silently compare it with my own. It feels like my pale, bony hand is about to get lost and my lip trembles because I still remember how your fingers were short and chubby. Your skin was fragrant and soft but you still had a death grip when your fingers closed on my shirt and you clang to my chest. You cried so loudly as a child –I never stayed angry for long.

Then you lean in closer and with a chuckle you kiss my 'old man's fingers'. The kisses are tender and damp. You are impossible, I mean it Alfred. You, your awkward kisses and this bizarre American accent that after all these years, I still cease to understand at times. I now notice that your smell has changed so much. It is a mixture of the freshly ground coffee and leather –all of them many and mature smells are spiced with a designer after-shave that I gave you as a present. Thanks, I appreciate it. At the same time in denial I ignore the smell of your greasy hamburgers (even though it is so distinctive.).

You break off a chunk of chocolate and place it in front of my lips.

Oh don't be absurd! If you think I'd let such a git feed me...

Then you're right. I fucking _love_ bitter chocolate. I quietly recognise the familiar taste of my favourite brand as it melts in my mouth.

And it's about to get better as you lean in and I can feel the tickling hot breath on my lips.

***

There are many questions I want to ask you as we sit under the festive tree. The room is completely dark with the exception of colourful lights on the tree and your massive eyes. For so many years I've been gathering the courage to ask you whether all this perfect winter atmosphere is created only to make up for all the Christmas I have spent alone listening to the rain which refused to stop all throughout December. Tell me you bastard, where has all this bloody snow come from?

You stole it away from me, right? Or maybe it's just fair that you get anything that is pure.

No, no, no! I want the answer! The kisses aren't going to help. Alright, your hands _are_ doing a much better job but... Al I just want to know if this miracle isn't out of pity and, and...!

You call me silly and if it weren't for the warmth in your eyes, I'd hit you. Instead I allow myself to be enwrapped by it as I drown in the cosy corner of your eyes which contrasts strongly with the freezing weather outside.

But I don't want to burn.

/////

I realise it's kind of short so... the winter season should be put here in two parts. Thanks to everyone who reads my fanfics... but I'd like to ask you guys to keep reviewing cause I need the encouragement in order to continue! Thanks again ^^


	3. Spring

The sun is shining again, beautiful patterns form on the mirrored surface of puddles on the ground. I wonder, at times, if they had a mind of their own would they be scared of drying out; what would they say if they knew that because of their lover's –the sun- embrace they will cease to exist, oh so very soon. I know I would give away however many years of life I have left only to be held by you right now.

Do you ever wonder if it was destiny that brought us together? I ask but you just stare into my eyes and tell me they are the most freaking beautiful thing you've ever seen. Idiot. Just because I don't ask out loud doesn't mean you can ignore it. As soon as I open my lips they are instantly closed, my voice silenced by our kiss. By then I know there is no point in protesting because I can't say anything worthwhile now. Not when I feel those arms around me, despite the inhuman strength they hold, you place me on the ground as if I was made from the most delicate glass. The grass is still wet and I can feel wet patches on the back of my shirt while the fresh smell makes my head spin.

"It doesn't matter", your voice is heavy, full of promise and responsibility, your face bearing the most tender of smiles as I trail my fingers over your plump lips, "I love you."

Oh you insufferable git. Don't confess to me now. It's so extremely corny, so extremely you.

'We're special. You're my only one and I never wanted anyone else. I'll give my life for you. I'll protect you.'

I don't think you even realise how overused these words are as you whisper them into my ear. You're making love to me, unable to hold back the boiling desire and hormone driving passion, we're making this warm day hot, burning, the leaves and grass living imprints on our skin.

I don't want to reply. I feel I will break if I do, but you have broken and twisted me in so many ways by now I wonder if it's possible to place any further damage. The thing is -I think, when you lazily drag pink tulip petals over my thighs and I'm trying to remember how to breathe- I'm mending. Your every touch and every word makes me come together, my objections are only my defence mechanism. Spoiled flesh which doesn't want a fix.

I think you look glorious with the glow caught in the hair which in its vibrancy and radiance should make the sun jealous. The gold flesh is sleek with sweat and glistens as the light is caught in every well toned muscle and I can't believe you are mine.

I was never taught to love or need anyone else Alfred, I am stuck with you.


End file.
